Loved
by MelancholyMadness
Summary: If there was one thing France did, it was love. He believed in love wholeheartedly and despite what all the men and women he'd been with thought, he had loved them all. FrUK and FranceXEveryone


**Loved**

If there was one thing France did, it was love. He believed in love wholeheartedly and despite what all the men and women he'd been with thought, he had loved them all. He had been faithful to them. He had cherished them. He had given them his entire being while they were together.

France loved. It was as simple as that.

However, despite how much France loved; how much France cared; how much he gave in a relationship, no matter how much he tried, France was not loved. He was not cared for. They never tried.

France was alone. It was as simple as that.

That was why, when Romano had turned to Spain, his face bright red with embarrassment, and stuttered out that he loved him and Spain had turned to Romano in return and hugged him, declaring that he loved him too, so so so _so_ much, France had to leave the room. France had told Spain he loved him once. And he had loved him! It killed him inside when Spain had laughed and told France that he didn't have to pretend to love him. That he knew France was only with him because the sex was amazing.

France had loved Spain.

He had loved his obliviousness. He had loved the way he laughed. The way Spain seemed to know when he'd had a bad day and just how to comfort him. He had loved it when they danced; tangos, rumbas, salsa, paso dobles. He'd loved Spain's passion. He had loved how Spain used to make him churros just because. He had loved the way Spain would laugh at the simplest thing. He'd loved Spain's laugh... He'd loved Spain's smile. He'd loved _Spain_.

He'd loved Spain for more than just the sex.

And Spain had hurt him.

That was why when Hungary had marched purposefully up to Austria and kissed him fiercely on the lips declaring that she loved him and Austria had turned his head away in embarrassment, stuttering out that, though kissing in public wasn't very proper... He loved her too... And had for quite some time... France could not stomach the piano. He had been with Austria once. Courted him, waltzed, took strolls in the moonlight, played duets on the piano, and spent the nights showering him in affections. On a romantic evening, alone with the stars sparkling, France had pressed his lips to Austria's hand and told him he loved him. And Austria had scoffed, saying that though this was all fun and games, this charade of a relationship they had, he knew France was just looking for the right moment to take his virginity and that he wasn't going to fall for it. He was waiting for someone with real emotions and a real heart.

He had loved Austria.

He had loved the afternoons they'd shared, the elaborate excursions under white umbrellas, the stolen kisses, always modest. He'd loved how Austria showed his passion through the piano and that when they both played, their fingers seemed to move without thought, finding perfect harmonies and melodies. He'd loved how easily embarrassed Austria was. He'd loved how his cheeks would dust pink at the slightest comment. He'd loved how delicate Austria was and how that delicacy seemed to transfer into everything he did. He had loved how when he touched Austria's cheek or held his hands, it was like caressing velvet. He'd loved how firmly those hands held his own while they waltzed. He'd loved the way, every now and then; Austria would initiate something, grasping his hand, pressing a kiss to his cheek, placing a hand on his knee... He'd loved how it made him feel like Austria felt something too.

He'd loved Austria. He'd loved Austria for more than his innocent virginity.

And Austria had hurt him.

That was also why, when he saw Prussia sneak a kiss on an embarrassed Canadian cheek, while he was visiting his old colony's house, he suddenly wasn't hungry. He had loved Prussia once. They had each been left by a lover and through their loneliness they'd bonded and evolved into something much more than friends. After having a steady relationship, France grew to love Prussia and one night just as they were going to lay down in bed, France told Prussia that he loved him. Prussia had snickered, reminding France that there was a huge difference between being fuck buddies and being in love and that he knew that France was only with him to cheer him up about Hungary and Austria's relationship.

France had loved Prussia.

He had loved Prussia's sense of humour. The way he seemed to be able to make him laugh, even when it seemed as if there was no life left in the world. He'd loved the inside jokes that only they understood. He'd loved Prussia's enthusiasm. He'd loved his dedication. He'd loved how he made him feel like he was the only one that mattered. He'd loved how confident Prussia acted... How he wasn't actually confident. He'd loved Prussia's facades. He'd loved Prussia's individuality. He'd loved his excitement. He'd loved _Prussia_.

He'd loved Prussia. He'd loved Prussia more than as a fuck buddy.

And Prussia had hurt him.

That was why after the meeting today when France had finally racked up the courage to tell Britain that he loved him, that he honestly cared, that he would be faithful, that he loved Britain more than he had _ever _loved someone, more than he ever _would_ love someone, more than he thought he _could_ love someone, in a way that surpassed kissing and touching and sex, in a way that made him want to spend all of his time with him, spend his whole life with him, spend his whole life making him happy and feel loved, that he _loved_ Britain _so_ much. And Britain had told him not to play with his heart, that he knew what France was like, that France didn't love and that he'd talked to Spain, and Austria, and Prussia and that they'd all said that he had never loved them and that he'd just wanted in their pants, and that he wasn't going to be some quick fling; that he wanted a _relationship_... France had cried.

Because France loved. He believed in love wholeheartedly and despite what Britain thought, he loved him. He would be faithful to him. He would cherish him. He would give him his entire being for as long as Britain would let him.

He loved Britain. He loved him so much that it hurt. And France didn't think there would be a next love.

Because France would always love Britain. Britain. Not the sex.

**AN** Did I take FranceXEveryone to a new level? There were actually going to be more countries, but I got lazy. Maybe I'll add more some other time, but… So anyways, I really love reviews (long and short reviews), so if you'd like me to flip out and be really happy… Review please? -Ash


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